


The Royal Consort

by missbecky



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Light Angst, M/M, Roleplay, Shower Sex, light dom/sub themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-18
Updated: 2014-10-18
Packaged: 2018-02-21 14:16:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2471216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missbecky/pseuds/missbecky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony knows all about the shadows cast by fathers and empire builders. So when a chance remark causes him to take a second look at his relationship with Peter, he seizes the opportunity to show Peter that being royalty doesn't necessarily have to be a bad thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Royal Consort

**Author's Note:**

> The first scene of this story was originally posted as a one-shot on Tumblr. However, it's been greatly revised since then.
> 
> With many thanks and much love to Laire.

It's been a long day, and the last thing Peter wants to hear is the comm bursting into life, jerking him rudely back from the verge of sleep. He groans as he works one hand out from beneath the covers and reaches toward the bedside table. "Wha'izzit?"

Louder than life, Rocket's voice fills the bedroom. He's laughing so hard his words are almost unintelligible. "Pete, quick, turn on the news."

Peter groans again. Behind him, Tony rolls over and mumbles something into his pillow. 

"Are you watching yet?" Rocket asks, still laughing.

"No. Why?" Peter says. He has no interest in the news on a good day. If Rocket is amused by whatever they're talking about today, then he _definitely_ isn't interested.

"Just do it," Rocket says, and then the comm goes silent.

"Maybe they're showing Godzilla," Tony suggests, and yawns.

Peter just shakes his head as he sits up and activates the screen, then finds the right signal.

The scene is pretty much what he expected. A report from the Spartoi colony he and the Guardians saved just yesterday from a Badoon attack. It wasn't a planned rescue, more like being in the right place at the right time, but it was still some good work.

The news report now shifts to recorded footage of the battle. Flight data from one of the Spartoi ships, apparently. Rocket zips past in his pod, and then there they are, Tony and himself, flying under their own power. They're close together, so the armor's shield protects them both.

"We look good," Tony says. He sits behind Peter, one arm wrapped loosely about his waist, chin resting on his shoulder. He turns his head to one side and presses a kiss to Peter's cheek. "But you always look good."

Onscreen, Star-Lord and Iron Man are taking heavy fire from the Badoon, but giving as good as they get. And then comes the moment Peter remembers all too well, when their shield finally absorbed as much as it could, and gave out.

Watching it now, it only lasts for a second. Long enough for them to take two hits, though. Both of them bounce harmlessly off the crimson armor, thankfully, or Peter wouldn't be sitting here right now. At the time, Tony never even hesitated. He just redirected some of the suit's power and the shield came back online, and together they flew on, deeper into the heart of the battle.

The reporter says, "Although they declined our request for an interview—"

"Did we get a request?" Peter murmurs.

"I don't know," Tony says, and kisses his cheek again.

"—sources say that our prince Star-Lord and the royal consort Anthony Stark were unharmed. Certainly their actions in battle would indicate as much. After—"

There's more, but Peter stops listening. "Oh, my God."

"Wait--" Tony says.

"Did he just--" Peter says.

"--call me—"

"--the royal consort?"

"--your husband?"

He turns around in Tony's embrace and they stare at each other for a moment. And then they start to laugh.

It's been a long time since Peter found anything even remotely amusing about his unwanted and unasked-for royal bloodline, but this, this is the greatest thing ever. He and Tony collapse into each other, laughing without restraint.

There's a part of him, though, that doesn't find it funny. A part of him that rebels instantly at being labeled that way, at the use of the word "our" from that Spartoi reporter, claiming him as one of their own. _Our prince Star-lord and the royal consort,_ and pretty much the only word in that entire phrase he doesn't object to is _consort._

Tony is still laughing, and what the hell, it really is kind of funny. And since he doesn't want to ruin the moment with his private hang-up, he leans in and he kisses Tony and whispers, "consort" under his breath. Tony laughs even harder, his eyes literally shining with amusement because he's been reduced to helpless tears of laughter.

Peter can't remember ever seeing him look so beautiful before. Anything is worth it for the sight of Tony laughing like that. Tony who not so long ago came back to him and the Guardians from such a dark place that Peter sometimes wondered if he even knew how to smile anymore.

For Tony he can be the Prince of Spartax. If it will bring a smile to Tony's face, he will do anything.

****

Tony gets distracted – in the best way possible – the rest of that night, so it's not until the next morning that the significance of the Spartoi news broadcast sinks in.

"The royal consort," that reporter called him, and at the time all he could do was laugh. He still thinks it's kind of funny. Certainly he's been called worse names before. And he takes a strange comfort from knowing that even halfway across the galaxy, the media can see something and immediately jump to the wrong conclusions.

(And he's definitely not thinking about the ramifications of that name and all it means, all it _could_ mean, maybe, someday.)

No, it's not the "consort" part that he's hung up on.

It's the "royal."

He's always known that technically speaking, Peter Quill is the prince of the Spartoi Empire. But it's one thing to casually acknowledge this previously rather insignificant detail. It's another thing altogether to suddenly understand what it really _means._

One day Peter is going to be an emperor. He might rail against it now, but it's inevitable. He'll do it when he has no other choice, and he'll do it with deep reluctance, but he'll do it all the same. Because a part of him knows that he can do more good in one day as Emperor than he can do in a month flying all over the galaxy. Because he won't let the people of the Spartoi Empire go unprotected and undefended against the Badoon, the Skrulls, and anyone else who wants to take advantage of innocent civilians. Because he is a good man who wants to do the right thing, no matter the personal cost.

Tony understands that, even if he can't remember how it felt for himself. He knows that was why he accepted a title and rank of his own, why he agreed to become Director of SHIELD. Because doing the right thing is rarely easy, and if the price is your own happiness, well, you shut up and you pay it. You make yourself get up every morning and you go on. You do your job and you keep on paying that price.

It makes him uneasy to know that this bleak fate lies in store for Peter. He doesn't even want to think about it. Maybe it's inevitable, but it's all still in the future – and hopefully _far_ in the future. 

Deliberately he pushes such thoughts from his mind. He needs to focus on what they have now, not what will be. And what it means to Tony right here and now, is that this man sprawled asleep next to him, hair corkscrewed all over the place and one foot hanging off the side of the bed, is royalty. An honest-to-goodness prince.

The part that makes Tony smile, though, isn't the cute way Peter hugs his pillow in his sleep, or the way that one piece of hair keeps drifting above his forehead as he breathes in and out. It's the way they laughed about it last night when the reporter called him the royal consort. That was the first time he ever saw Peter hear himself referred to as the Prince of Spartax and not immediately wince with mingled shame and anger.

Tony knows a thing or two about legacies and paths laid out for you against your wishes. He knows all about the shadows cast by fathers and empire builders. He knows that when you fight your destiny, often you only end up tying yourself to it with even tighter knots.

He also knows that he wants to see Peter laughing like that again, like they did last night. As though being royalty isn't a burden or a terrible inevitability lying in wait.

Rather, like it's something…fun.

Beside him, Peter inhales deeply and stretches out a little, his fingers curling on empty air. For a moment Tony thinks he might wake up, then he subsides, burrowing a little deeper into the pillow as he settles back into sleep.

"So regal," Tony whispers with a smile. 

****

That innocent remark by the reporter is never far from his mind after that. It's not until a couple days later, though, that he comes up with an idea that lets him actually do something about it. 

The Guardians are stopped on a moon for refueling. By necessity they don't stay long, but Tony leaves the ship anyway, always eager to see new people and technology and learn what he can. There isn't much to see, though. The tech on this world is years behind that on the Guardians' ship. The people aren't very welcoming, either, although Tony is somewhat amused to see that they wear clothing in a style that reminds him strongly of ancient Rome. When he points this out, Peter raises his hand and intones, "Hail, Caesar."

Tony laughs, but the incident plants the first seed of an idea in his mind. By the time they all sit down to dinner, hours after they've left that little moon behind, he knows exactly what to do.

He's filled with a cautious optimism. If he can do this right, he'll be giving them more than just happy memories of one more night spent together. He owes Peter so much for taking him in and accepting him after what he did back on Earth – and for loving him in spite of all his flaws. This is his chance to finally give something back, to show that he's learned something from his many mistakes.

That no matter how hard you resist, in the end you have to accept who you are.

****

They've been together long enough that they've sort of fallen into a routine, so on the day Tony finally puts his plan in motion, he knows exactly what time to expect Peter. In fact, he's counting on that punctuality, because his knees are already starting to ache.

He's only off a little on his calculations; it's maybe ten minutes past the usual time when the bedroom door opens and Peter walks in – and then stops dead in his tracks. "Tony?"

Tony doesn't say a word. He knows perfectly well how this looks. He should, after all. He arranged the whole thing.

The bed is freshly made up, the covers pulled back just enough to be enticing. The lighting in the room is turned down, not enough to obscure any of the details, but enough to create deeper pools of shadow. A pitcher of fruit juice and two glasses are on a table beside the bed, along with a plate of the exotic dessert candies Peter likes best.

Tony kneels in the center of the room. He's completely naked except for two wide metal bands that encircle his wrists. The metal is a bit heavy, but not enough to hinder his movements. He made the bracelets himself, working in the area of the ship that has become known as his lab, mostly through default.

It took him less than a day to fashion and shape the metal bands, then paint them the same crimson color as his armor. He put them on just fifteen minutes ago, locking them snugly about his wrists. The key hangs from a slender gold chain looped about his neck; it produces a soft metallic _ting_ every time it makes contact with the RT in his chest.

"Tony?" Peter sounds a bit dazed, like he can't quite believe what he's seeing.

"That is my name," Tony says meekly, playing his chosen role to the hilt. His hands rest on his thighs; he keeps his head bowed just enough that he has to look up through the screen of his eyelashes in order to see the shock on Peter's face.

"What…what is all this?" Peter looks around in bewilderment.

"I have been sent here," Tony says, "to be the royal consort to the Prince of Spartax."

Immediately Peter makes that face, the one he always makes whenever someone refers to his royal lineage.

"Do you not like what you see?" Tony asks, and it's surprisingly easy to find the right blend of formality and servitude. "Do I displease you?"

"…no." Peter stares at him, obviously trying to figure this all out. He doesn't seem angry, though, which Tony takes as a sign to continue.

"I'm here to please you," he says. "Whatever you want, it's yours." He gives Peter what he hopes is a sultry look. " _I_ am yours, my prince."

"Don't call me that," Peter says, which is exactly what Tony knew he would say.

"But that is what you are," he says. "And I am yours, chosen as tribute from among my people to unite our planets and forge an alliance across the galaxy." He stops then, not wanting to lay it on too thick. He might be using the game to make a serious point, but as Peter once said to him, there is no reason this can't be fun.

"Tony, I…" Peter still looks unsure about where this is going.

Having fully expected this, Tony knows what his next step is. "Would you like something to eat?" he asks. He leaves off the "my prince" this time. They've reached the make-or-break point. Either Peter will agree to the game and Tony will show him that being royalty doesn't necessarily have to be a bad thing; or he will refuse, in which case Tony will abandon the charade and say he just thought they could try something new.

"Um," Peter says. For a long moment he looks like he's searching for the loophole in the question. Tony holds his breath, waiting.

Finally Peter says, "Yeah. Okay."

That's it, then. This is really going to happen. Tony feels a burst of excitement, some of which is purely physical. He stands up and walks over to the table beside the bed. "Come," he invites, and immediately winces, because no one in his position would ever really dare to issue a command to the royal prince.

Fortunately, Peter doesn't seem to notice his slip. He comes over and his eyes light up when he sees the candies; one thing Tony learned early on about Peter Quill is that he's got a major sweet tooth.

He picks up one of the candies and holds it out. Instinctively Peter moves to take it from him, but Tony draws back. "Please allow me," he says, just to make it clear what he intends.

Peter studies his face for a moment, apparently still unsure about all of this. And then at last he accepts the role Tony has provided for him, and he lets Tony feed him the candy.

"Would you like more?" Tony asks. "Whatever you want, I will give you, my prince."

Peter takes one of the candies off the plate. "Open your mouth," he says, and it sounds awfully close to an actual command.

Instantly Tony obeys. Peter places the candy on his tongue, and Tony closes his mouth before he can pull away. He tastes the alien sweetness that is very similar to chocolate, and the salt of Peter's skin. He wraps his tongue around Peter's fingers and suckles at them.

"Enough." Peter pulls his hand back. His earlier reticence is gone; he's into the game now, an aura of arrogance surrounding him that wasn't there just seconds ago.

Which is exactly what Tony was hoping to see. Satisfaction makes him bold. "May I kiss you?" he asks.

Peter gives him a rather regal nod, and Tony seizes his opportunity. He kisses Peter, long and slow, tasting the lingering sweetness from the candy. "You have a beautiful mouth, my prince," he whispers, and kisses Peter again.

He's been preparing for this for hours, and already he is practically aching with need. He lets this kiss become more urgent, breaking away only so he can breathe out, his lips barely grazing Peter's mouth, forcing Peter to nudge at him to continue the kiss.

He doesn't do anything else though, besides that kiss. He remembers his role in this game. Peter is the one to make the first move, his hands rising to cup Tony's face as they kiss again and again, slick and heated now. He slides his hands down, clutching at Tony's shoulders as he nips at the corner of Tony's mouth, then dragging his palms down over Tony's bare arms. He stops only when he encounters the metal bands that encircle Tony's wrists. "What are these?"

"A sign that I belong to you, my prince," Tony says. His lips feel hot and swollen, there is wetness on his chin. His cock twitches against his belly. "The key that unlocks them is a gift for you."

"I thought _you_ were a gift to me," Peter says.

"I am," Tony says immediately. "All of me, my prince."

Peter looks at him, and despite the desire in his eyes, Tony can see him trying to work out how much of this is real and how much is just a role-playing fantasy. To keep him from overthinking the whole thing, he asks, "May I undress you now?" Deliberately he withholds the title this time.

"Actually," Peter says. "I was going to take a shower before bed." He hesitates a little, then says, "You will wash me." Color flames in his cheeks, but to his credit, he barely stumbles over the words.

Tony bites the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. This was something he didn't foresee, and it thrills him to no end. "It would be my honor, my prince."

He takes his time about it, undressing Peter slowly. He starts with the black T-shirt, pulling it over Peter's head and letting it drop in a heap on the floor. "May I touch you, my prince?"

"Yes," Peter sighs, and Tony leaps at the chance. He runs his fingers across the broad expanse of Peter's back, down his sides and over his belly, smiling a little at the way the muscles there jerk and flinch beneath his touch. Boots and belt are next, and he slowly pushes Peter's trousers down, smiling to see nothing but bare skin beneath them. 

"Oh," he says. "You are bold, my prince."

Peter flushes again. "You're one to talk."

Tony grins and goes exploring again, dipping into the small of Peter's back before cupping his ass. He teases now, his hands light on Peter's thighs, moving ever closer to his goal without actually touching. Peter shifts his weight and turns a little, trying to press into him, and Tony relents, remembering at the last second the role he's supposed to be playing.

His fingers close about Peter's cock, eliciting a low groan from Peter. After a moment he starts to move his hand in the stroking motion he knows is sure to get a response. "Do you like that, my prince?"

Peter's eyes flutter closed. His hips sway forward. "Yes," he murmurs. "Very much yes."

"Should I continue?" Tony asks. He will, if that's what Peter wants. But he hopes not. He wants that shower scenario. He wants this to last as long as possible.

Peter opens his eyes. "Maybe later," he says. "First, shower."

This time Tony can't hide his smile. "Yes, my prince."

He lets Peter take the lead as they move into the bathroom. It's not very large, and the shower is definitely not designed with two people in mind, but Tony could care less at this point. "Allow me," he says, and he turns on the water.

The showerhead is in the center of the stall; wonderfully heated water streams down on them from all directions. Despite the fact that they are on a spaceship with finite resources, Tony isn't worried about the hot water running out. The ship's recycling system is extremely efficient, a fact he has never appreciated more than just now.

They stand beneath the water, facing each other at first. Peter is as tall as he is, and it's a simple thing to lean forward and kiss him again. Surrounded by so much heat and water, it would be so easy to forget his little game and give in to the need thrumming through his entire body.

But he won't surrender that easily. That's never been his style.

He takes the soap and he works up a lather in his hands, then he gets to work. He moves slowly, taking his time and prolonging the anticipation, kissing the clean of Peter's skin. When he lowers himself to his knees to finish the job, Peter's hand rests atop his head, petting him almost absently, fingers tangling in his hair. It feels good, and Tony sits back on his heels and leans in to rest his cheek on Peter's thigh, murmuring contentedly beneath that touch.

"You're very good at this," Peter says.

He can't look up right now without getting a face full of water, so Tony just nods and hums a little in agreement. "Thank you, my prince."

"But you aren't finished yet," Peter says, and the tone of his voice is positively wicked.

It's impossible not to smile. "Yes, my prince."

He stands up and builds one last lather of soap in his hands. Gently he washes Peter's cock, reaching between his legs to cup his balls. Peter grabs at him and kisses him frantically, almost rutting into his hands. "Tony. I want you so badly."

Tony kisses him. "Then take me, my prince."

"Turn around," Peter orders, his voice ragged.

Tony complies instantly. He leans forward and braces his hands high on the tile wall. Water runs in streams over the crimson bracelets. He's ready for this, he prepared himself ahead of time, he burns with the need to have Peter inside him.

Peter pushes in slowly, and it's almost too slow. He wants more, he _needs_ it, and he begs for it shamelessly, arching his spine and tilting his hips back. He drops his head and groans at the overwhelming sensation of being stretched and filled, heat all around him and in him, and it's all he can do to hold still just a little bit longer, to remember the role he chose to play tonight.

One of Peter's hands reaches around and takes hold of his cock, and then they're both moving as hot water pours down on them. Peter mouths at his shoulder, murmuring words Tony can't make out. He twists his head around so he can capture Peter's lips in a somewhat awkward kiss. Water from the shower runs into his eyes and mouth and he splutters a little, and then they're both laughing.

Peter slows his pace and Tony's panting now. He's seeing sparks with every thrust, too, light glittering on the metal bracelets about his wrists and gleaming from deep within his chest.

This is happiness, he thinks. This is what it feels like to be happy.

And that's it, he's coming, calling out with his pleasure. Peter's hand stays wrapped around him until he's spent, and then it shifts upward to rest on his stomach in a gesture of warmth and possession. Tony covers it with his own hand, and their fingers entwine, and Peter stiffens against him in his own release, and Tony is happy, he is so happy.

They stand there for a few minutes, breathing heavily. Peter leans on him, his head resting on Tony's shoulder. After a while Tony pushes himself off the wall and stands up straight. Immediately Peter backs away, but before he can really go anywhere, Tony turns around and embraces him.

Peter hugs him back. He doesn't say anything. Neither does Tony. They let the water wash over them, and Tony closes his eyes. He feels tired, but in a good way. He will sleep well tonight, dreams of the past banished for once.

The shower turns off. Tony startles and opens his eyes, a bit surprised by how close he is already to falling asleep.

Wordlessly he follows Peter out of the shower. He reaches for the towels set out on the counter, but before he can grab one, Peter turns to him. "Wait."

Obediently Tony lowers his hand. They're dripping water all over the floor, but he doesn't care. He doesn't know what Peter has in mind, but he's more than willing to find out.

The game is over, though. He understands that right away when Peter takes hold of the key that rests against the glowing light of the RT. He doesn't move as Peter lifts the gold chain over his head and then uses the key to unlock the crimson bracelets from about his wrists. Each one falls to the floor with a loud clang.

His hands feel strange without the weight of the metal above them, like they want to float upward on their own. He lets them do what they will, rising until they finally come to rest on Peter's shoulders. He leans in and kisses Peter, sweet and chaste.

"Thank you," Peter says. He loops the gold chain about his neck so the key hangs against his chest. He looks tired, too, but he is smiling.

It's too soon to know if tonight will have the desired effect, but Tony dares to hope that it will. Hopefully someday Peter will look back at this night and realize that it was the beginning of something new for him.

For now, there is really nothing left to say, except, "Ready for bed?"

Peter hands him a towel. "I feel like I should dry you off or something."

Tony grins at him. "Next time."

In short order they are in bed, lying close together, damp heat suffusing the scant space between them. Peter gives him a kiss, and Tony tastes the sweet candy he snitched just before getting into bed. "Cheater," he admonishes.

"Guilty as charged," Peter says without a trace of shame, and nestles in a little closer. He's still wearing the gold key about his neck.

Tony wraps an arm around him and smiles. He closes his eyes and listens to the sound of Peter's breathing deepen into the steady rhythm of sleep.

He presses a soft kiss to Peter's forehead. "Good night, my prince."

****

It must be the middle of the night when Peter wakes up. All around him, the room is dark except for the soft glow of white light emanating from the device in Tony's chest. Tony himself is deeply asleep, lying on his back with his head resting on Peter's pillow but his face turned away. One of his feet is lodged against Peter's ankle. The gold key rests on the mattress between them.

Peter looks at it for a long moment. Then he smiles.

He knew what Tony was doing last night, knew it all along. Tony might be a certified genius with more doctorates than he can keep track of, but subtlety is not his strong suit. He couldn't have been more obvious if he had handed Peter a scepter and a crown.

But it's all right. Peter forgives him. He actually finds the whole thing somewhat touching; no one has ever gone to such lengths for him before, or cared so much about making him feel better.

He closes his fingers around the key on its gold chain. He has no desire to take it off. Ever.

He isn't stupid. He knows that this thing he and Tony have created together won't, can't, last. He won't leave the stars, and Tony won't leave Earth.

But sometimes he thinks about it anyway. And what he thinks now is that it might not be so bad to rule an entire empire if he could do it with someone like Tony Stark by his side.

For tonight, though, and for as long as he can hold on, he has the real thing by his side, this most precious gift of all. For as long as it lasts, he is going to love Tony and take what he can.

He shifts a little bit closer. Carefully, not wanting to wake him up, he kisses Tony's cheek.

"Sleep well, my royal consort."

**Author's Note:**

> You can find the original version of the first scene in this story [here on my Tumblr](http://missbeckywrites.tumblr.com/post/98505537042)


End file.
